


Goal

by mishatude



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Artist Castiel, Big Brother Gabriel, Big Brother Lucifer, High School, Jock Dean, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2014-07-28
Packaged: 2018-02-10 19:42:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2037564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mishatude/pseuds/mishatude
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester has a lot going for him. His dad dropped him and his brother off at his Uncle Bobby's two years ago and they haven't heard from him since, which is good enough for Dean. Since he'll be at Bobby's for a while, Bobby enrolled Sam and Dean in school. Dean hates school, but he loves soccer. And he's pretty good, too. A few colleges have already contacted him offering scholarships. But Dean isn't sure what he wants. And that doesn't just apply to soccer.<br/>Castiel Novak is quite the opposite. Castiel comes from a very religious father, Raphael Novak. He has three older brothers, Michael, Lucifer, and Gabriel. Michael and Lucifer are both living successful lives elsewhere whereas Gabriel and Castiel are stuck in South Dakota until they graduate. Castiel is everything his father hates: gay and an artist. Does that mean that Raphael hates his own son? Well, no. Raphael doesn't know. Raphael can't know.<br/>But things become complicated when Castiel Novak and Dean Winchester's paths cross. Dean has to come to terms with his homosexuality and Castiel has to keep Dean a secret. But will it become too much to handle?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Goal

Chapter 1

"MR. WINCHESTER!" I jolt awake to find my trig teacher, Ms. H, standing in front of my desk with a disapproving look on her face. "Wakey, wakey."

 I get out of seat and stretch. "Sorry Ms. H, must have dozed off again." I sit back down in my seat.

"Of course, Dean! I totally understand!” Her voice oozes sarcasm. “But do you remember what I told you the last time you 'dozed off'?”

"Uh yeah.” I wipe some more sleep out of my eyes. “You said the next time I fell asleep in the middle of the lesson I would get lunch detention for,” I remember, pausing, “shit."

"Lunch detention for a week, Dean." MS. H turns and walks back to her desk.

"Aw fuck." I mutter under my breath. The girl next to me chuckles.

"What was that Dean?" Ms. H says without even turning around.

"Just saying how much I am going to love spending every lunch period with you this week!" I reply in a severely fake, cheesy voice.

"Mhm."  

\-----------

"Ah, Mr. Winchester. Glad you could join us." Ms. H says to me as I enter her classroom with my lunch tray. She has all of the desks in a circle and about five of the desks are filled. Across from Ms. H is my friend from soccer, Balthazar. He’s a midfielder and constantly gets busted for bringing in alcohol to school. He never offers it to anyone. He’s the only one that drinks it. He always gives them bullshit excuses like, ‘My doctor said that alcohol can reduce my stress level. And I have anxiety!’ or ‘My mom used to put whiskey on my gums when I was a baby when I was teething and I just got my wisdom teeth out!’. He’s gotten pretty fucking creative, but every time he gets busted and the next day he just brings in more. Surprised they haven’t expelled him, to be honest.

"DEAN! MY SISTA FROM ANOTHA MISTA!" Balthazar calls from across the room. I go and sit next to him. "What’s the haps?” His thick British accent allows him to get away with saying things like ‘what’s the haps?’.

"Nothing much." He shrugs and takes a swig from his water bottle. It may look like water, but I would bet you a million dollars that it’s vodka. I look directly across from me and there's this junior writing on the board. He's tall, but shorter than me. Hell, everyone's shorter than me. He has thick, black hair styled up. He's working on some complicated math equation on the board and it doesn't even have numbers. It could be for english class for all I know. He turns around. He's wearing a white button down shirt with a blue tie and black slacks, unusual for a day at school. When he meets my gaze, he has these piercing blue eyes that are well, beautiful. Wait, what?

"Is this correct, Ms. Harvelle?" The boy asks. His voice is deep, with just a hint of rasp to his voice. I want to be buried in it. Wait, what?

Ms. H gets out of her seat and crosses to check the boy's work. "Very good Castiel. I don't understand why you insist on eating in here every day. You know everything." 

He just smiles and turns back to his work. So cute junior boy has a name now. Wait, what?

"Dean, do you actually like math? You've been staring at the board for precisely 67 seconds." Balthazar says.

I tear my gaze off Castiel. "Oh, uh, yeah! Love me some math."

Ms. H scoffs and walks back towards her seat. "Oh yes. Dean loves math. He loves it so much, he has yet to turn in a homework assignment this year!"

Castiel chuckles from the board. "Well, Ms. H, I was thinking. Maybe you could tutor me this week since I have to be here anyways." I tell Ms. H. This isn’t a lie. I’ve been in algebra for three years already. I’m tired of it.

"Ah you got lunch detention." Balthazar says.

"Why else would I be here?" I reply.

"Well, unfortunately, I work with my geometry kids this lunch." she gestures to a group of freshman and sophmore girls sitting next to her, who are eyeing me quite uncomfortably. 

"I could tutor him." I look up and see Castiel looking in my direction. I can feel heat rush to my cheeks. Wait, what?

"Oh Castiel, I doubt he even meant-" Ms. H begins.

"I can do it. I'm in AP Calc I think I can tutor him." He cuts her off. He turns to me "What level are you in?"

"Wh-what?" I stutter.

"Math. Geometry, Trig, Algebra II...?"

"Oh uh..." I lower my voice. "Algebra."

"Oh come on Ms. H! Algebra! That is the easiest level!"

"Hey!"

"Sorry." He glances over at me again and I feel something flip. What the hell?

Ms. H takes a deep breath. "Well... I ain’t going to stop you. Dean needs all the help he can get."

“Excuse me?” I say.

"Thank you Ms. H." Castiel says. He turns back to the board.

"You know after all that arguing, I would think you would want to start tutoring Mr. Winchester now.”

"Oh uh right." He trips over his words and walks back towards his desk. He gestures for me to come sit by him. I drag myself and my tray over there.

"Castiel Novak." he holds out his hand for me to shake. I hear Balthazar scoff and take another swig of his drink.

I take his hand. "Dean Winchester." We shake. Our hands stay connected for an extra second and he takes his hand away and sits down. "So, uh, Cas, what are we doing first?"

He takes his pencil off his desk and starts fiddling with it. "Well, we probably need to get a textbook, notes, anything really. I need something to teach you with. And my name is Castiel. Not Cas."

"Right. Duh. I'll-uh-I'll go get my binder out of my locker." I get out of my seat and start walking to the door. I turn around and say "I'll be right back  _Cas_.", pleased with Cas’s annoyed look.

\-----------

        

I return to the classroom to find Balthazar gone. Probably went to puke up his lunch after all the vodka he just drank. I sigh and cross back towards Castiel. He’s immersed in his notes when I put my book on my desk and sit down. Cas still doesn’t look up. I chuckle and clear my throat. He jerks up and looks at me. “We gonna do this or what?” I ask him.

“Oh. Right. Sorry.” He nervously chuckles. “I, uh, I have an art history test next block.” He sort of rushes through the last part and his cheeks blush red. He neatly gathers all of his notes together and places them in his desk.

“No way. _You’re_ in art history?” I ask him. The Art History kids are gods. At least, to the other Art students, like me. You have to go through all of these steps to get into Art History, like you have to take Art for 3 years, you have to have at least a 3.5 GPA, and you have to put together a quite impressive portfolio. Even if you have all of these things, there’s still no guarantee you’ll get in. Mr. Crowley is super selective about who he picks for Art History. It’s an AP class, and his is the only Art History class in the state that all students have A’s. Five years in a row. Mr. Crowley doesn’t want to screw up his record. You also have to be a senior. At least I thought.

He blushes again. “Why do you sound so surprised?” He begins to thumb through my Algebra binder. “Which chapter on you on?”

I continue to stare in awe. “Don’t you have to be a senior to take Art History?”

“Yes. Which chapter are you on?”

“But you’re not a senior.”

“No. Which chapter are you on?”

“Then how,"

“MS. HARVELLE WHICH CHAPTER IS DEAN ON?” Cas cuts me off.

“Five.” Mrs. H says without looking up.

“Well I could have told you that.” I say jokingly.

“Then why didn’t you just say it?”

“Because I want to know how a junior got into Art History!”

Castiel blinks. “You want to know why I am in Art History?” He sounds confused.

“Yes.” I clarify.

Castiel considers something for a second, takes a deep breath, and starts, “Because I love art. I completely love it. I love drawing, painting, mixed media, sculpture, you name it, I do it. I took Art my freshman and sophomore year and Mr. Crowley took a liking to me and my work. I mean I knew I was good, but I didn’t realize I was _that_ good. But at the end of last year, he asked me if I would have an interest in taking Art History this year. Of course, I agreed. I love history and already know a lot about the artistic eras and artists themselves. Like, my favorite story is Van Gogh.” His blue eyes get a certain glint in them as he begins the story. I start to smirk as Cas completely loses himself in his story. He starts using hand gestures and moving with the story. I don’t know if he knows I’m listening. I don’t know if he cares. He just wants to tell his story. “-and so he takes his revolver and walks about a mile away from his house and sits up against a stack of hay. He takes his gun and shoots himself in the heart. Or so he thought. The bullet did indeed enter his chest but it landed right below his heart, perfectly avoiding his heart and the arteries around his heart. So he realizes that he’s not dead and manages to crawl back to his house without bleeding out. It was a bit of a miracle actually. Once he got back to the house, the doctor of course patched him up, but he got an infection and died three days later.” He takes a deep breath after he finishes and looks at me expectedly.

I chuckle. “That was a great story, Cas. Never pegged you as a guy who has a thing for dead dudes who give their ear to prostitutes.”

He laughs. “Never pegged you as a guy to listen to my stories.”

“What do you mean by that?” I ask and lean forward in my seat, my knee brushing his. His breath hitches. Well then.

“Nothing. It’s nothing. Never mind.”

“Cas.” I say, my voice suddenly soft.

“I didn’t really expect you as a guy to befriend a nerdy little junior that dresses up every day for _school_.”

"So you do realize that you dress like you’re going to court. Good. I didn’t want to have to break that to you.”

He laughs again. God damn his laugh his hypnotic. Wait, what? “My dad always says ‘Go to school dressed as the profession you want to pursue.’ That means I wear a button down shirt, tie,  and slacks. I have to be dressed like I’m ready to walk right into NASA, minus the lab coat, of course.” His face drops as he mumbles, “God forbid I come to school dressed as an artist.”

I lean into him. “What was that?”

“Nothing.” He answers quickly as he blushes.

“Castiel,” Cas’s eyes flick up to mine as I say his full name. “Do you want to be an artist?”

He blushes. “No, no. That’s preposterous. Who would want to be something that doesn’t use your right brain or provide a steady income?” He sighs. “Definitely not me.”

I stare at him for a millisecond longer before I say, “Do you have anything with you?”

He meets my eyes again. God damn those eyes. Wait, what? “What do you mean?”

I don’t break his gaze. “You know what I mean."

“I’M PRETTY SURE CASTIEL DOESN’T HAVE ANY CONDOMS, DEAN.” Ms. H shouts over at us. I can feel the heat rush to my cheeks. Wait, why is heat rushing to my cheeks? I glance over at Castiel and he is looking down at his hands in his laps, his ears a lovely shade of red. I smirk slightly at that. Wait, what?

“MS. H!” I yell back.

“Kisses.” She says and gives me a kissy face.

I wave her off and turn back to Cas. “That’s, uh, not what, I uh, meant?” I say it like a question.

He sighs. “Yeah. I know.” He rummages through his desk and pulls out a sketchbook. He searches through the pages, his eyebrows tight in concentration. It’s sort of cute. OH MY GOD DEAN SHUT UP. He stops on one page and stares at it. Then he looks up at me and he looks fucking terrified.

“Cas. It’s fine. Just show me.” I hold out my hand for him to place the sketchbook in. He does and our hands brush in the process. A shot of electricity shoots up my arm. He jerks his hand away and I look down at the page.

Oh my god. It’s beautiful, for starters. It’s a skyline of a city, New York, probably. It was all done in pencil, sketched, so there are some stray pencil lines, but it adds to the effect. It’s shaded perfectly so that it looks like the sun is setting on the right side of the page. In some of the windows of the buildings, you can see outlines of things. People. Animals. Things. I just stare at it, taking it all in, and I can see out of the corner of my eye that Cas is biting down on the inside of his thumb and tapping his foot, clearly uncomfortable. I look up at him.

When I don’t say anything, Cas says, “I only spent about three hours on that. And it’s just a sketch so there’s no color. It’s not my best but,”

I cut him off. “This only took you three hours?”

“Yeah, but,”

“God damn, Cas.” That shuts him up. I look back down at his piece trying to find more words. “Just….. God damn.” I chuckle.

His entire body relaxes. “Really?”

“Yes, really.” I look up at him. “Would I lie to you?"

He stiffens up again. “I don’t know yet.”

I hum and look back down at the piece. “Is this New York?”

“Yes. I want to move there and go to art school. But. You know. _Dads_.” He makes a disgusted face and it’s adorable. Dean, shut up.

“Yeah. I know.” I say quite pathetically.

That causes his head to cock to the side. “Wait, your,”

I glance up at the clock and cut him off. “God damn. The bell rings in two minutes.”

Cas turns around and looks at the clock. He turns around and sighs. “I suppose it does.”

“Would you maybe like to meet after school? Get some actual tutoring done?”

The offer hangs in the air for a second. “Sure.” He replies. “Wanna meet at the library, say, four o’clock?”

“Sure. I’ll have to blow off soccer practice, though.”

“Oh no, we can meet later then, tomorrow?”

I cut him off again. “I would blow off a lot of things for you, Castiel Novak.” Where the hell did that come from?

His cheeks blush quite embarrassingly. “Well of course. Four then?”

“See you then.” I exit the room with a suspicious look from Ms. H that I ignore and head straight to the bathroom. I need some privacy to comprehend what the hell just happened.

I weed my way through the halls to get to the bathroom. I splash some cold water on my face. What the hell just happened? I mean, sure, I know which gay porn sites are the best, but I never thought I would actually…..

No. I refuse. But the shock I felt when we touched was nothing like I have ever experienced. I mean the closest I’ve come to that is when I climax. And even then, I get better orgasms when I jack off myself than when I’m with a girl.

But… I can’t be, right? I’ve been with girls. I mean I’ve never had anything serious but. The gay stuff is just a sexual fantasy, you know? Just an extra thing that turns you on. Just because you like gay stuff doesn’t mean you’re gay.

 _Oh please._ A voice in my head says. _That’s not what you were thinking when you stared into those blue eyes._

 _Shut up._ I reply back. I grab a paper towel and wipe the water off my face. I take one last glance in the mirror and head towards Physics.

 -----------

 _Dean Winchester_. I can’t seem to get those two words out of my head for the rest of the day. However, I was able to push them to the back of my mind during my Art History test. I may have doodled his name onto my note paper during Mr. Shurley’s English lesson, though. Eighty three times.

I’ve always known I was gay but I get “girlfriends” every so often to throw dad off my trail. God forbid my dad raises an artist, but a _gay_ artist? You can forget it.

Gabriel is already in the driver’s seat when I reach the car after school.

“COME ON SLOWPOKE, DON’T WANT TO MAKE DADDY ANGRY, DO WE?” He yells at me through the window.

I glare and open the door. However, I can’t scowl for long. No matter how hard I try, every little thing reminds me of lunch and I can’t seem to wipe this dopey grin off my face. It’s actually quite frustrating.

Gabriel glances over and does a double take as we pull out of the parking lot. “Are you….. smiling?”

I giggle. Are you kidding me? Did I just giggle? Oh my god.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, did my little Cassie just giggle?”

I giggle and nod my head. Now this pathetic. I have never felt gayer than I do in this moment.

“Watchu giggling about little brotha? Talk ta me.”

“I’ll talk to you if you talk like an actual human.”

“GOD YOU ARE NO FUN. Okay, talk.”

“Wait, I can’t.”

“Whhhhhhhhhhhhhhhy?” He whines like a child, despite being a year older than me.

“Because you might tell dad.”

“Now why would I,” He looks over at me and sees the fearful expression on my face. “Oh my god. You _are_!” He says ‘are’ like he just made the discovery of the century.

“Are?” I ask quizzically.

“You like dick.” He says plainly. As he backs out of the parking space.

“What?” I get quite flustered, “Gabriel, I have no idea what,”

“It’s okay, Cas.” He cuts me off. “I’ve always had a hunch of your thirst for the male booty. I won’t tell dad, though. I think he actually buys the fact that you’ve had the same girlfriend for over a year, who is also your best friend, however you never go on dates and you only bring her over for dinner the second Tuesday of the month, every four months. The piece of shit is oblivious.”

“You think?” I stammer.

“Oh. I don’t think. I _know_.”

I laugh. “And how do you _know_?” I mock him.

“I overheard him talking to Zachuriah about paying for a weekend getaway for you two love birds.”

“Wait…. What? Meg would never agree to that! She’s saying we might have to end our agreement. She’s starting to really like this guy in college, Ash. He’s a technology major.”

“Who cares about Megstiel ending, care about how our piece of shit father is actually buying into your heterosexuality!”

“You make it sound like I’m a prostitute.”

Gabriel laughs. “Oh you think I don’t know what you do when I’m asleep at night?”

“Dammit. I have to call my pimp now, the jig is up.”

“Bro.”

“What?”

“Don’t say ‘the jig is up’. I’m going to assume that you’re lusting over a straight boy, and you ain’t gonna get in a straight boy’s pants by saying ‘the jig is up’.”

“I don’t want to get into his pants.” I mumble.

Gabriel fake coughs and in between two coughs he says “bullshit” and I slap his arm. He smiles over at me, pleased with himself. “So who is this straight boy?”

I giggle again. I’m not going to fight it anymore. “You have to guess.”

“UGH CASSIE YOU’RE SO FREAKIN’ GAY. Okay. But you gotta give me some hints.”

“Uh…. He’s a senior.”

“OOOH GOOD I KNOW SENIORS. Uh…. Richard Speight.”

“Ew no. He’s sort of pudgy.”

"Yeah I suppose. Wouldn't be your best choice. Rob Benedict?"

"No."

“Okay I need another hint.”

I think for a characteristic that wouldn't give it away. “Soccer player.”

“OOOOH AN ATHLETIC STRAIGHT BOY! Uh… Matt Cohen?”

“Good lord that boy’s body…. But not my cup of tea.”

“Jensen Ackles?”

“Cute. Definitely on my radar. But not the boy in question.”

He scoffs. “Radar. Mark Pellegrino?”

“Meh.”

“Okay I need more hints.”

“Hm.” I debate what to tell him. “He’s a forward.”

“Mark Sheppard?”

“Gabriel he has been held back five times. Plus he's the keeper, not a forward.”

“Oh right. Jared Padalecki?”

“He’s dating that Gen girl.”

Gabriel gasps. “OH OH I KNOW!” He takes a dramatic pause. “Dean Winchester.”

I just smile.

“Cassie. Please tell me it is not Dean Winchester.”

I shoot up in my seat. “Why?”

Gabriel sighs. “God, he’s as straight as they come. And he’s bad news.”

I scoff. “Sure seemed pretty straight today when he was staring at my ass while I was writing on the board.”

Gabriel looks over at me, his brow furrowed. “He was staring at _your_ ass? Your ass? The ass that is currently connected to rest of your body?”

“Yes. That ass.”

Gabriel exhales. “Well, I’ll be damned. What else happened?”

“Uh, let me think.” I exhale as I think about the occurrences at lunch. “Uh, we talked about my art.”

Gabriel looks over at me dramatically. “Cassie.”

“Yes?”

“You talked to someone about your art? You barely talk to me about it.” He turns back to the road. “God damn, Winchester.”

I blush. “I told him the Van Gogh story.”

“GOD DAMMIT CASSIE. YOU CANNOT TELL CUTE BOYS YOUR KINK FOR DEAD, INSANE ARTISTS, OKAY? IT’S A BIT OF A TURNOFF.”

“But he listened.” I say, quietly.

“What?”

“He listened.” I say, louder.

“Dean? Dean Winchester? Tall, dark, star forward of the soccer team, wears that weird ass necklace and jeans every day of the year, raspy voice with the slightest hint of a country accent? That Dean Winchester?”

“Yes. Are there any other Dean Winchester’s?” I ask, without a hint of sarcasm.

Gabriel sighs. “No, Cassie. None that I know of.”

“He wanted to see my artwork.”

“He wanted to see your artwork?” He looks over at me for clarification and then turns back to the road. He sighs. “That’s pretty gay, not gonna lie.”

I blush again. “He sort of forced me to show him something. I was pretty opposed at first, for obvious reasons. It’s a pointless dream, so why tell people about it?” Gabriel opens his mouth to protest, but I cut him off. “But when I handed him the notepad, he brushed my hand, and I swear, it was not an accident. Then he looked down at the sketch. I showed him the New York skyline sketch. He was quiet for about thirty seconds just staring at it and I got really nervous, so I just said ‘I only spent about three hours on it. There’s no color either and’ and then he cut me off and said ‘this only took you three hours?’ like that wasn’t a lot of time, and then I said ‘yes but’ and he cut me off again and broke my gaze and looked back down at the sketch and just said ‘God damn, Cas…….. Just…. God damn.’ Oh and I, uh, I’m meeting him at the library at four. We never actually got to going over his math.”

“Wait…… So he fangirled over your art, you are tutoring him in math, and you’re meeting him in,” he glances at the clock in the dash, “an hour and forty-five minutes to ‘study’.” He takes his hands off the wheel to put air quotes around ‘study’.

I break out into that dopey grin. “Yeah… I guess so.”

“So what’s your cover story gonna be for dad?”

“Oh no. I hadn’t even thought about that. Studying with Meg?”

He debates this. “But how are you going to get transportation?”

I sigh in exasperation. Our dad is the strictest, most religious, overprotective person he knows. Our mom is slightly more relaxed, but she’s terrified to stand up to Dad. He can get pretty scary at times. Gabriel doesn’t exactly give two shits, and he’s almost eighteen. My parents have essentially given up on him and let him do what he wants as long as he doesn’t put himself or anyone else in danger. They’re letting him go to school in New York for piano. He just has to pay for it. Gabriel is a truly gifted musician, he just sucks at school. Math, science, not his thing. Mom and Dad have realized that they have three other sons to be successful. Not that Gabriel won’t be successful, I know he will. They just don’t, like, believe in him. But that’s okay. He’s got me for that.

Our older brother, Michael, is a prosecuting attorney in Kansas. Our second oldest brother, Lucifer, is a cop in Chicago. Me and Gabriel believe he’s more of a mafia type of cop, using fear to run his unit, doing things off book. Lucifer isn’t exactly a ‘Live for other people’ sort of person. Gabriel’s going to school in New York, the lucky bastard, and next year I will be a senior. Alone. In that house. Without Gabriel. I have no idea how I’m going to make it through senior year, to be honest.

Gabriel pulls into the driveway and shuts the car off. He turns to me again. “Any ideas?”

“Could you cover for me?” I ask.

He sighs. “Maybe….. Maybe we could say that some of my friends invited us to go bowling?”

I scoff. “Bowling.” I say, shaking my head at the thought of playing that germy drinking game.

“You got any better ideas?”

I sigh. “No.”

“Good. So we tell the padres that we’re going bowling with Lisa, Ben, Anna, and Kevin.”

“Okay.”

We get out of the car and enter the house.

\-----------

“Hey dad, Kevin invited me and Cas to go bowling okay be back by six kisses.” Gabriel makes a kissy face before attempting to drag us for a speedy exit, but of course, Dad was too quick.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Dad asks as he looks up from his mid-afternoon bible read. I’m too scared to reply. But I know Gabriel’s got my back. Dad approaches us in the foyer.

Gabriel sighs quite dramatically and sassily puts his hand on his hip. “Kevin, my asian friend whose parents are doctors, invited slightly pudgy but completely adorable, me,” He smiles and gestures to himself, pauses, as if waiting for applause. When he receives none he then gestures to me. “and Castiel, your son who doesn’t want to be a scientist oops did I just say that,” my cheeks flush red as my dad gives me a pointed look and starts to say something but Gabriel cuts him off again, “and Lisa, Zachuriah’s smoking hot daughter, who totally has the hots for Cas,” I give him a look of confusion but he ignores it, “and Ben, our freshman, but still totally cool friend, and Anna, the redhead, to go bowling this fine afternoon.”

Dad turns to me. “Don’t you have homework?”

I gesture to the bag by my side. “I don’t bowl. But it would be rude to decline an invitation. I will finish what is left of my homework at the bowling alley.”

My dad mentally debates it for a minute or two, while I’m sitting on pins and needles. He looks from Gabriel to me, Gabriel to me, and sighs. “Okay. Go have fun. But be back by six thirty. Dinner’s at seven.” He turns to me, “Don’t get too cozy with Lisa, don’t want to make Meg mad!” He laughs at his joke and Gabriel starts laughing and jabs me in the rib to start laughing. I obey. Dad starts to walk away then turns back around and gives us both an exceedingly icy glare and says, “Don’t be late.” I shiver.

Me and Gabriel don’t have to be told twice.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you guys liked the first chapter! This was a real challenge for me; I've never written a Destiel fic before so. Next chapter should be up soon!


End file.
